There’s an inquest for my father, too, which concludes “death by misadventure,” though nobody can say for sure what his misadventure might have been. Perhaps when he discovered the flat battery he left the airport by taxi, or perhaps by bus or train. Perhaps he wanted to put off another fight with his wife and went for a walk up by the falls, or perhaps he was researching the memorial. Did he slip and hit his head, or suffer a heart attack? His bones weren’t inclined to say.

The funeral of Martin Calder takes place two weeks later. Pete flies up for it; there are no malevolent volcanos thwarting plane travel. Carrie helps me buy a black dress and heels, then lends me some “statement” jewelry that somehow makes the dress a thousand times more stylish. Glen gives a eulogy, and this time I give credit to what he says about his old friend. Carrie holds my hand, and I wish beyond reason that I had been at my mother’s funeral to hold hers, but I don’t cry until Callum leaves his mum to sneak his little hand into my free one. And then it’s hard to stop.

We invite everyone back to the Manse for the wake. If I was being uncharitable, I might say that half the villagers have come purely to get a peek inside the Manse, and the other half out of guilt at thinking my father was a thief, but I don’t feel uncharitable. I’m too overwhelmed by the enormous number of people who have made an effort to honor his memory. At one point I squeeze through the crush to find Ali and Ben in dark suits by the kitchen table, laying waste to the salmon sandwiches. “You two scrub up well.” My smile may be tenuous, but it’s genuine.

“I could say the same about you.” Ben gives me a one-armed hug on account of the other hand being occupied by food.

“It’s the sling that really makes the outfit,” says Ali, through a mouthful. He’s not a hugger; I’ve learned that now. Occasionally he manages a squeeze of the arm. Occasionally. He nods at my shoulder. “How’s it doing?”

“It’s just annoying more than anything else. I hate that I can’t drive.”

“She has to rely on help from other people,” says Carrie, coming up from behind me to slip an arm round my waist. “She can’t be totally independent. It’s a learning experience for her; she has to trust.” I wrinkle my nose at her and she laughs.

“My dad’s been looking to speak to you,” Ali says, in a quiet aside, as Ben asks Carrie something about her play. “But maybe now is not the time.”